Amazon or Winchester?
by Lady Dawson
Summary: Xover with Star Trek: 2009. Emma betrayed her mother, her tribe, her future when she refused to slay her own father. But as she embarks on a journey of her own making, will the call of her Amazonian blood be too strong? Or will the human part of her lead her to a path in the stars? And in the end, can Jim Kirk save Emma from herself? Jim Kirk/Emma.


**Amazon or Winchester?**

by Lady Dawson

Chapter One: Self-Exiled Amazon

Her heart thudding in her chest, Emma listened anxiously to the sounds around her, to the snores coming from Harmony's bed, the soft mumblings as Aileen slept, the quiet footsteps coming from outside the dormitory as the matrons patrolled the hallways, checking every so often on their sleeping charges. Like clockwork, they changed shifts every four hours.

Checking the time every so often, Emma waited for the minutes to tick by, every fiber of her being praying against all odds that she would be able to get out of here alive. If she managed it, it'd be a miracle.

Stars only knew how she'd managed to survive thus far.

Emma could feel her hands shaking as she huddled further into the covers, forcing herself to stay awake. If she fell asleep, then she'd never get out of here and sooner or later, they'd discover the truth about her; they'd figure out Emma wasn't actual an Amazon.

Oh, sure, she'd still aged like one, but she had felt the subtle changes to her body ever since that ritual—which she hadn't completed, not that the matrons knew that.

The ritual, which required each initiate to consume a piece of male flesh, had been performed yesterday evening, after their arrival at the Institute. Emma and her sister initiates had stood side-by-side in their nightgowns, unaware that this was the end of whatever humanity they had retained and the beginning of their Amazonian lives.

But Emma couldn't bring herself to do it.

Even with the matrons watching, even with everything her mother had told her before she'd left home, even knowing she was risking her own life by disobeying, Emma couldn't force herself to eat it. She'd barely been able to put it in her mouth and only did so because Mother Marlene instructed her to. Instead of swallowing, though, she kept it underneath her tongue and spat it out when no one was looking.

And ever since then, Emma had noticed the changes to her body; her supernatural strength began to wane and her mind remained her own while her sisters' all succumbed to the Amazon that had lain dormant until the ritual. But most of all, she had felt _alive_, more _human_, if that was possible.

But it was also the only explanation; by not completing the ritual, she had allowed herself to become human. And Emma was more than okay with that—more than okay, she was _relieved_.

Even before she'd come to the Institute, Emma had been treated differently; the matrons had watched her even while she was at her mother's and continued to watch her like a hawk since her arrival. And she knew why.

It all had to do with her father.

Her father . . . the one she was supposed to kill in order to appease the goddess. Her father . . . who knew full well what she was because he was different than the other initiates' fathers. Instead of being a doctor or a lawyer or some other high-ranking official like the others, Emma's father was a Hunter, trained to fight against the supernatural and perfectly capable of taking her own when she faced him. It was the reason why they had watched her so closely, because she was the daughter of a Hunter.

And it made her a freak her, she thought miserably. Harmony was usually unbearable, but even the others had turned their backs on her when they learned what she was.

Ever since the truth had come out—that her father wasn't an investment banker as her mother had believed—the other initiates had made Emma's life here as miserable as possible. Not that it had been that fun to begin with, but now it was almost unbearable. Even if she had considered staying with the tribe before, they would've made her turn her back on them just by their treatment of her. She was born to the enemy and that made her the enemy, just by the blood that ran through her veins.

Fine with her; she didn't want to be an Amazon anyway. Emma desperately craved to escape all of this and her best chance of doing that was by finding her father. She was just glad she'd managed to glimpse the hotel he was staying at when she'd been in Mother Charlene's office earlier.

All she had to do was lay low and wait for the right opportunity.

Listening intently, Emma closed her eyes as the door opened and one of the matrons walked in, inspecting each of the beds to make sure the girls were asleep. Emma kept her breathing even, letting nothing betray her as the matron passed by her, only opening her eyes when the door had closed again.

Sitting up slowly, Emma pushed aside the blankets as she picked up her boots, slipping them on quickly as she crept towards the door, glad she'd had the foresight to keep her clothes on as she eased the door open as silently as possible, peering out into the hallway and casting a quick look out.

There was no one there.

Letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Emma tossed a glance over her shoulder at the sleeping initiates before opening the door further and making her way through the hallway, quickening her pace when she saw the door to the next dormitory open.

By the time that the matron had stepped into the hallway, though, Emma had already rounded the corner.

Hastily moving through the hallway as quickly and quietly as possible, Emma climbed down the stairs leading to the entrance, but was forced to stop halfway through as two matrons appeared from another room on the next floor, discussing something in undertones. She backed up, ducking into a supply closet, listening closely as they walked right past where Emma was hiding at.

Her blood ran cold as she heard them pause outside the closet; what would they do if they found her? She could probably lie and say she was going to the bathroom or something, but that wouldn't accord for her hiding the in the closet. And she'd never get a chance like this one again.

And that was even if they _believed_ her; there had been another initiate who'd been caught running away. They'd made an example of her.

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, Emma forced those particular thoughts out of her head as she heard the matrons move on, unaware that she was there.

Slowly and carefully, Emma slid the door open, making sure the coast was clear before climbing down the stairs. The main floor was completely deserted; there wasn't a soul in sight.

Thinking she was home free, Emma made a break for the front door, but her hand moving around the doorknob—

_ BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

Alarms erupted all around her and Emma cursed as two matrons suddenly appeared, their eyes reddish-yellow as their inhuman side emerged, attacking the runaway teenage without hesitation.

Ducking underneath their arms, Emma moved into the position they'd taught her less than a few hours before, blocking each attack and moving with one of her own, but it was useless; she was human . . . weaker than they were . . . they were too strong . . .

_ Suck it up, Emma,_ she told herself sternly. _You _chose_ this. So unless you want to be made an example of, then you'd better figure out a way out of this. _

Fighting against Mother Irene's grip, Emma managed to squirm out from her grip long enough to grab a vase sitting on a nearby table, smashing it into her head. Irene let out a howl of pain, stumbling away, and Emma ducked underneath Mother Quinn's arm, racing down the hallway, straight at the window at the end of it. There was no other choice; broken bones would be nothing compared to what would happen if they caught her.

Not hesitating, Emma flung herself through the window, smashing through the glass and falling from the second story.

It was a short fall, but Emma still hissed in pain as her body hit the pavement. She didn't dare lie there, though; it wouldn't take them long to catch up with her. Scrambling to her feet, she hastily beat a retreat, her body screaming in protest the whole way.

* * *

It wasn't that hard to find the motel, Emma found out as she put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible, not daring to pause and catch a breath until she was in the motel. Her ankle throbbed like crazy; she was pretty sure she'd twisted it, but there was no time to find out.

Shivering slightly as she made her way through the grungy hotel, Emma wrinkled her nose at the dirt and muck that covered every inch of the hallway and the numerous smells she didn't even want to _try_ and identify. It was nothing like the Institute or her mother's house; it was so far away from everything she'd left behind. And despite its appearance, Emma couldn't say she was sorry to get away.

All she had to do was convince _him_.

As she reached the right door, Emma took a deep breath, making sure that she still had the knife underneath her sleeve. She wasn't stupid; she knew her father was just as likely to shoot her as he was to help her. But she had to get her humanity from somewhere, didn't she? Certainly not from her mother, but . . . if nothing else, she hoped that he might help her, if only just to get her away. She couldn't honestly expect more than that.

Taking a deep breath, Emma felt nervousness rise through her as she reached out to knock, overwhelming in briefly as she yanked her hand back.

She was trembling, she realized as she looked down at her hands; she was actually _trembling_. And her breath was shaking, coming out in anxious gasps. Emma had to instill every inch of control that the Amazons had taught her in order to calm herself and even then, she could feel her hands shaking.

"Don't be a coward, Emma," she whispered and, before she could stop herself, she reached out and knocked on the door, waiting for him to answer.

She heard movement coming from behind the door, but it remained shut. Emma knew what that meant; either her father or uncle was there and suspected who was behind the door. Suspected and were ready for her, she thought with a shiver.

Emma waited another minute before knocking again and this time, after a slight hesitation, the door opened to reveal Dean Winchester.

She remembered him from his visit to her mother yesterday, but Emma was still thrown to see the resemblance between them. He had her eyes, she thought—or rather, she had _his_, since she was his daughter. They were the same color green and the exact same shape that hers were.

"Hi," she said almost shyly, her nervousness returning as his eyes surveyed her quickly, flickering behind her briefly, as though he were expecting someone else to appear, before returning to her. "You don't know me, but my name is Emma." He didn't bat an eye, unsurprised by her words; clearly, he _had_ been expecting her. "I need your help. I'm in trouble and you're the only person I can trust."

"Why?"

His voice was cold, detached, controlled—a far cry from the warm, kind one that she remembered from yesterday—but she could see the uncertainty that lay underneath the initial coldness and the tenseness in his shoulders. He was just as wary of her as she was of him; neither of them had any reason to trust the other.

But she had nowhere else to go.

"Because you're my father," she stated matter-of-factly. Dean just looked at her, having known she was going to say, expecting it.

"How'd you find me?" he asked, not budging from where he stood. She could practically see his hand twitching, resisting the urge to grab his gun, but he didn't. It was within reach, should he need it, but Emma wasn't the one who would be attacking first. If she was attacked, she'd defend herself, but she wouldn't do the attacking.

"They've been watching you," she told him, "ever since Mom got pregnant."

Nodding once, Dean eyed her. "Well, if you're such a prisoner, you mind telling me how you escaped?"

He didn't know, she realized. While she had escaped the Institute or her own free will, she still would've been here during the next few days—if she were here for different reasons—to complete her initiation into the tribe. Although he was a Hunter, he had no idea it was the daughters that killed their fathers. But he was suspecting it, now that she was standing in front of him.

"I waited until lights out," she explained. "The women who watch over us change shifts a little after ten; I waited until they'd checked over us, then snuck out—or tried to," she added. "I had to fight my way out; they must've double-checked on my dorm or something."

"Uh-huh . . . and you left because . . .?"

Emma took a deep breath. "They stick you in there . . . and you trust them. It's all you know. And you don't question what they want you to do . . . terrible things," she whispered with more emotion coming through than she wanted. "That's why I _had_ to leave; they tortured me." She showed him her wrist, where the mark of the Amazons had been burned into her flesh, still red and angry-looking. Every time she brushed it against something, it throbbed painfully. Her father looked unnerved at the sight of it, shaken despite himself. "They told me I had to endure pain so I could be strong like them! But I don't want to be like them!" she cried, desperate to make him understand.

He was her only chance of escaping them.

"Okay," Dean interrupted her, pulling the door open wider and gesturing for her to step inside. "Come on in."

Relief surged through her as she stepped inside, looking around briefly; if she thought the room would be better on the inside, she was gravely mistaken. It was just as dingy and grungy as the outside had been. Sitting on the table and collected on one of the beds, she noticed, there was a pile of old paper books—she'd seen some in Mother Charlene's office like that, but these were more about supernatural lore, she noticed, some of them pertaining to Amazons. He must've been going through them when she knocked.

"Have a seat," Dean instructed. She obeyed, fighting back a wince as she put pressure on her ankle; she really did think it was at least twisted, if not broken. But she ignored it, sitting down on the bed while he stood across from her, his shoulders still tense, but his eyes moved across her, taking note of her injuries.

"What happened to you?"

Emma swallowed; it was probably best if she explained. "When I was sneaking out, I got caught—the alarms went off, anyway—and I had to fight my way out. Only way to get out was by throwing myself through a window on the second story. I think I twisted my ankle when I hit the pavement," she said, wincing slightly as she bent down to touch it gingerly.

A flicker of . . . something, she couldn't quite place the feeling, passed through his eyes and he pushed himself up, walking to the bathroom and grabbing something before proceeding to the replicator and getting some ice. Walking back over to her, he handed her a washcloth filled with ice cubes.

"Put that on your ankle," he instructed quietly. She did as she was told, feeling relief surged through her as the coldness swept across her ankle; it felt amazing. "Okay, let's assume that you're not . . ." Her father paused, searching for the right word; Emma hoped he wouldn't say 'monster.'

But he didn't. Instead, he said, "Like them . . . yet. What do you want _me_ to do?"

"Help me get away from here," she pleaded. Her father looked skeptical. "You're a good man . . . my mother told me that."

She'd hoped that appealing to his morality might sway his decision, but she was hardly surprised when he said scornfully, "I seriously doubt she said that. And if you knew me, you'd seriously doubt it's true."

Emma considered that. "You're right," she admitted. His head shot up. "Mom didn't say that . . . but I have to believe that you are. Because I sure didn't get any humanity from her, so if both of my parents are bad people, then what hope is there for me?" She sighed. "The matrons told me that you're a Hunter, so maybe you can understand about me. Maybe you can protect me, just long enough so I can get away." Her father's expression softened an inch or so, but was far from convinced.

Lowering her gaze away from his identical ones, Emma said miserably, "I know you don't want me . . ."

"Okay, let's not . . . go there, all right? This isn't a matter of . . ." Dean trailed off, torn between awkwardness and frustration as Emma stared down at her boots, still clutching the ice to her injured ankle. "You get that this isn't a normal situation, right?"

Emma almost laughed. "How would I _know_? Three days ago, I wasn't even _alive_! Now here I am. My mother _threw_ me into that place and my father . . ." Her voice broke as she looked back up at him, forcing herself to rein in her control. "Well . . . you get that this is my _last_ chance to have anything normal ever, right?"

He sighed, nodding briefly as he looked away. "I know," he confessed, pushing himself off the table to peer out the window before returning to where he'd been, pacing back and forth across the room. Despite his words, Emma knew that he still didn't trust her—certainly not enough to stand still for more than a few seconds.

"You look exhausted," Dean finally shattered the silence, surveying her with faint concern with arms folded over his chest.

Emma nodded reluctantly; she couldn't deny it. She was wiped out from the past two days of Amazon training—which had gone with virtually no sleep—and staying up tonight when they'd finally allowed the initiates to rest before their final initiation. Truthfully, she could happily lie down and sleep for a week straight.

"And starving," she added, realizing how hungry she was for the first time. The matrons hadn't fed any of them, save for the scrap of male flesh that Emma had refused to swallow. "It's been a tough sweet sixteen. So you believe me?"

She honestly would not blame him in the slightest if he didn't; this was what he did for a _living_. He hunted down monsters and killed them; they had explained what Hunters were. To have a daughter born to an Amazon—one who hadn't even _existed_ three days ago—show up on his doorstep, asking for his help . . . well, she wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't seriously considering pulling out his gun and shooting her. It was kind of a surreal situation and if the situation were different, maybe Emma would be here for entirely different reasons . . .

Maybe she would've seen him as the enemy instead of her father. Maybe she'd be here to join the tribe instead of fleeing from it.

Regarding her briefly, Dean hesitated, looking as though he were going against his better judgment before he nodded once.

Emma let out a sigh of relief. "You'll help me?"

"If you really want help," he replied and she could hear the doubt in his tone. "You said that you got caught when you were escaping . . . what'll happen when they find you?"

Her blood ran cold at the thought and her hands tensed slightly. "They don't give second chances to traitors," she said in a shaky voice. "Leaving the tribe is the ultimate betrayal and they will not forgive or forget. If they find me, they'll do . . . awful things to me." Emma shut her eyes tightly, her breath trembling. "The last girl that escaped, they made an example of."

Her father looked at her sharply. "What do you mean, 'made an example of'?"

"Trust me," she whispered, looking up at his identical eyes. "You really do not want to know."

Dean swallowed as he regarded her shaky expression and pale face, surveying her before he nodded slowly, either deciding that he really didn't want to know or he didn't want to make her relive it. Either way, Emma was grateful to put it out of her mind.

"I know it's gonna be hard," she said as her father walked towards the replicator, "but if I'm gonna get out, I have to do it now."

"You want cheese or a burrito?" Dean asked absently, not paying attention.

"It doesn't make a difference."

Her father whipped around, his hand moving to his gun, but when he saw her still sitting on the bed, his expression turned perplexed and he dropped his hand away, returning to the replicator, punching in some buttons and it whirled to life. Picking up the burrito that appeared, he went back to her, handing it to her.

Emma hungrily ate the burrito, almost moaning at the taste. She couldn't remember anything tasting so good in her life.

Dean watched her as she devoured the thing in seconds, but for the first time, she noted his expression was less wary, his posture less tense, and there was almost a flicker of—dare she think it—hope in his eyes. Almost as though he were starting to believe her story, Emma thought in relief.

"So, um . . ." He cleared his throat. "Is Lydia . . . your mom . . . supposed to show up or were you supposed to kill me?"

"It's not her place," Emma said bitterly. "The daughter is supposed to kill the father; it's the final initiation into the tribe. But I don't want to . . . I can't explain what happened . . . I don't know why I'm not like them . . ." She sighed, running a hand through her blonde hair. "I mean, I've got my suspicions, but . . ."

Her father eyed her. "Try me," he encouraged her.

Launching into an explanation of the past few days, she told him about the ritual and how she'd only pretended to eat it and afterwards, that was when she began losing her Amazon powers and her mind remained free. If he had any thoughts about any of this, her father kept them to himself, not saying anything until she had finished.

"Why didn't you eat the flesh?"

Emma sighed. "I don't know . . . I just . . . didn't want to be like them, like Mom. She threw me into that place without a second thought, shoved me into a life where I'll be forced to breed every two years until I'm too old or one of our enemies kills me. She never considered that I might not want to join the tribe. But even before the ritual, I was treated like . . . like an outsider amongst the other initiates. I wasn't the daughter of a lawyer or a doctor like them. I was the daughter of a Hunter," she said flatly. "To them, that meant I was no different than the enemy and treated me as such. They called me an abomination, unlawful and . . . other things," she said lamely. Dean's expression didn't change, but she caught something of pity in his eyes; being an outsider was something he could understand, clearly. "I guess I could've finished the ritual and, once I finished my blood mission, they'd welcome me into the tribe, but what would it have changed? They didn't want me into their club before; why should a few days make a difference? Just because I was one of them now? Because I had committed murder, I would be welcome with open arms? No," she said, shaking her head. "I'd still be an outsider; they would still treat me like one for the rest of my life. Being human . . . I guess it just gave me a chance that I might find somewhere I _belong_."

There was something of pride in his green eyes as he regarded her, a slight smile on his face as he looked down at her.

"And you lost your Amazon powers?"

"Yeah . . . maybe it was because I didn't complete the ritual; I don't know. I don't know if anything like this has been tried before, so unless we can find another Amazon who betrayed her tribe, we might never know. But I'm pretty sure I'm 100% human now."

"Trust me," her father said dryly. "It's not all that it's cracked up to be."

Emma smiled faintly before she looked up at him seriously. "What not? They'll be coming for me . . . they probably followed me from that warehouse downtown."

Dean considered her carefully. "Emma, I can't take you with me, all right? And it's not because I don't want you, all right? It's not even a matter of that." But she could tell, by his tone, that he was still unnerved about having a daughter. Former Amazon or no. "But Sam and I, we're involved in something pretty big and it's not something that I want to drag any kid into. And you're—" He took a deep breath. "You're my kid. And that makes me want even less to drag you into it."

"I could help."

"I'm sure you could. You are mine, technically. But if we were in normal, everyday territory, I would still want any kid of mine to stay away from the Hunter life. My brother and I, we were raised in this life. It's not a life I'd want for you."

"But—"  
"You honestly want to spend every day traveling in an old car, going from place to place, hunting down evil psychos? You want to learn how to fight them, to spend every minute of every day trying to stay alive, and watching the people around you die? And when you finally feel like you have had enough, you try to get out of this life, but it keeps dragging you back in? Because that's what you're looking at."

Emma swallowed; he was right. The picture that he painted was not at all appealing. Her stomach felt nauseous at the idea of it, actually.

"Then what do I do?" she whispered.

"Here's what we're going to do," he said as he stood up. "We're going down to the shuttle station and get you on a shuttle away from here—preferably off-planet." He paused. "You're not afraid of flying, are you?"

"No," Emma said truthfully. She actually liked looking at the stars; the idea of shooting amongst them was thrilling.

"Well, you didn't get that from me," Dean muttered. "All right, we'll get you off-planet. That'll get you off the Amazons radar. You'll go to some off-world colony and finish school there. Meanwhile, I'll talk to a friend of mine about papers and stuff." He paused. "You have a preference for a last name?"

Emma shook her head. She wanted to say Winchester, but knew that it was probably too much to ask that; he was already helping her enough. "No . . . I'm okay with anything," she said, looking down again.

Her father paused, then nodded. "All right, then. And on the way, we're gonna stop by a doctor, see about that ankle," he said, glancing down at her foot.

"What're you gonna tell him?"

"Uh . . ." Dean winced. "Your mom went psycho?"

A giggle escaped her, despite herself, and Dean smiled. "Well, it's better than the truth," he said as he stood up, snagging his jacket. "Come on, we'd better get you out of here before Sammy gets back. Somehow, I don't think he's going to be on board with this," he said dryly as Emma followed him out the door.

* * *

Luckily, they managed to catch a doctor just as he was locking up his office, about to leave for the night, but one look at Emma and he ushered them inside without any persuasion from Dean. All he did was help Emma onto the table, snatching up his tricorder and waving it around her ankle, frowning at the readings, before scanning the rest of her body.

Dean hovered nearby, glancing out the window every so often, like he was expecting somebody to show up. Though Emma couldn't really blame him for his paranoia; she wouldn't be at all surprised if the matrons _did_ show up.

Like she said, leaving was betrayal and she'd be lucky if she was able to escape. But she had a better chance with her father on her side than on her own. Emma knew that and fortunately, so did he.

Finally, the doctor lowered the tricorder, looking between them. "Well, the good news is, your ankle isn't broken; it's just sprained. You must've taken quite a spill there, darling," he said in a thick Georgian accent. "And there's no sign of infection with that burn, so other than a few scrapes and bruises, you check out. I'm gonna give you a hypo for the pain and fix up your ankle real quick, but otherwise, you should be good. Good thing you found her when you did," he added to Dean, who looked away.

"She's my daughter," he said gruffly.

"Mom . . . threw me through a glass window off of a second story building," Emma said helpfully, but Dean shot her a look that said to shut up. So she did.

The doctor's eyebrows raised slightly, glancing between them. "I . . . see," he said softly as he stood up, looking down at Emma in concern. "Well, I'm gonna go grab some stuff, I'll be right back. If I could have a word with you?" he requested, looking pointedly at Dean, who followed him out of the room.

Emma watched them go before pulling her jacket tighter around her, feeling slightly disappointed that her father wouldn't be taking her with him.

Oh, she understood his reasons; she honestly didn't blame him for not wanting to take her with him. As a Hunter, he led a very dangerous life and truthfully, the way he'd described it wasn't something she looked forward to. Emma really could understand his reasons for not wanting her to go with him. He was just trying to protect her from the life he led; in some strange way, it made sense.

But he was still her father and part of her felt a little abandoned for him just putting her on a shuttle and shipping her off.

Not that she was going to say that to him, though; he was already doing more than enough for her. So she kept her mouth shut like the good little soldier she'd been trained as and went along with his plan, because it was the one least likely to get her killed.

The door reopened and her father stepped back in, his jaw tight and he looked like he was fighting the urge to punch something. Emma opened her mouth to ask what the doctor had wanted to talk to him about, but he shook his head before she uttered a sound.

"It's nothing," he said curtly. "Doc was just . . . worried about you. I told him I was taking care of your mom situation."

That was one way to put it, Emma thought, knowing what 'taking care of' actually meant for the tribe. Instead of saying that, she said, "I'm guessing you left out the Amazon part?" Dean managed a grin. "So any idea where I'll be going?"

"I've been looking and there's not really anything that leaves tonight—or really, this morning," he added, glancing down at his old-fashioned watch, "considering it's after midnight—but there is a shuttle going to Iowa. It'll get some distance between here, at least, and there's a ship that's going to Tarsus IV tomorrow. You'll get there in plenty of time."

"Tarsus IV?"

"Yeah, it's a colony . . . farmers, I think . . . or something."

"You have no idea what it's like, do you?"

Dean had the grace to look sheepish. "Not really," he confessed. "I don't really spend that much time studying up on stuff happening off-planet; got enough on my plate with this one. Space stuff is more Sam's thing than mine," he admitted. "But it's a small enough colony, only about eight thousand people or something. And they won't ask questions," he added, giving her a pointed look.

"So in other words, it's perfect for me?"

"Pretty much," Dean agreed. He paused. "Emma . . . I know that this seems like I'm . . . ditching you, shipping you off like this, but I honestly think you'll be a hell of a lot happier there than you will be traveling around with me. I'm not that much fun to be around, especially for a sixteen-year-old kid. You'd be better off without me and especially better off without everything we have to deal with every week."

Emma felt her throat close up, but she forced away the tears. "I meant what I said; you're a good man. I know you're trying to do the right thing."

"But . . .?" Dean pressed her.

She swallowed. "If you don't mind my asking . . . if you hate the Hunter life so bad, then why don't you just walk away?"

"Tried that," he said. "Didn't last long." Emma watched his green eyes as they softened ever so slightly, obviously remembering something both painful and joyful. "I had a normal life for a while, had a girlfriend and she had a son that . . . for awhile, I was kind of his dad, but it didn't last. I almost ended up getting them killed." He shook his head. "Anyway, it's more than just my wanting to walk away; I can't leave my brother. Family is pretty much the only thing I've got left, so I try to protect my family."

She looked down at her hands. "I understand."

"Emma," Dean said, taking a step towards her. She looked back up. "I'm including you in that. I may not have known you long—hell, you may not have been _alive_ for very long—but you're my daughter. You're _family_. I'm trying to protect you by keeping you out of this life, get you a shot of having a _normal_ life."

The sincerity laced in his tone surprised her and there wasn't a trace of hostility in his identical green eyes. Emma opened her mouth to say something—though she wasn't sure what she was going to say—but before she could say a word, the door slid open and the doctor reappeared.

"Sorry, was I interrupting?" he asked apologetically, pausing in the doorway. Father and daughter shook their heads quickly. "Alright, then, let's get this over with and you can get out of here . . ." He paused. "I'm sorry, darling; I didn't catch your name."

"Emma," she said, catching her father's eye over the doctor's shoulder. "Emma Winchester."

He smiled at her. "Hi, Emma, I'm Dr. McCoy. Leonard McCoy."

**AN:** Hey, guys, Lady Dawson here! I'm back! Okay, so obviously, this is a rewrite of a previously deleted story. I thought if I published this under Supernatural instead of a crossover, I might get more hits. But it is still a crossover with Star Trek 2009. But I hope you enjoyed it and for those of you who are reading "Out of This World," don't worry, EssentiallyRei and I are still continuing it, but the next chapter is just slow in coming. Anyway, hope you enjoyed "Amazon or Winchester?" and please review! (Seriously, because I might delete this again if I don't get any reviews, but if I get reviews, I'd more more inclined to continue writing this).

Lady Dawson


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